“Ma’am, don’t make this difficult.” “I’m not making anything difficult.” “I’m asking why you’re here.” He steps closer. She can smell his cologne. Cheap. Overpowering.
His hand stays near his belt.”We’ve had reports of suspicious activity in this neighborhood.” “I need to verify that you live here.” “Suspicious activity?” “I’m watering flowers.” “Exactly.” “You don’t look like you belong in this neighborhood.” The words hang in the air, sharp, ugly. Simone’s jaw tightens. She’s heard versions of this her whole life, but never on her own front lawn.
What does someone who belongs here look like, officer. Whitmore’s eyes flash.”Don’t play games with me.” “Are you the homeowner or the help?” Eleanor Henderson’s voice cuts in from next door.”Officer Simone lives there.” “She’s been my neighbor for five years.” Whitmore turns.
His voice rises.”Ma’am, step back.” “This is police business.” “Police business?” “She’s watering her own garden.” “One more word and I’ll cite you for interfering with an investigation.” Eleanor’s mouth opens, closes. She pulls out her phone instead, starts recording. Simone forces her voice to stay level.
“Officer, I’m happy to answer reasonable questions, but you’ve given me no legal justification for this stop.” “Legal justification?” Whitmore laughs. It’s not a pleasant sound.”You want to give me legal advice now?” “I’m simply asserting my rights.” “Your rights?” He moves closer still, inches from her face.”How about I tell you what your rights are?” “You have the right to cooperate.” “You have the right to not piss me off.” That clear enough.
Mills appears at the fence line. His face is pale.”Derek, maybe we should get back to the car,” Mills. But Captain Reynolds said, “I don’t care what Reynolds said.
I’m handling this.” Mills hesitates, then retreats. Simone watches him go. No help there. Across the street, a young couple stops their morning walk.
The woman pulls out her phone, starts filming. Two houses down, Mr. Carter steps onto his porch, arms crossed, watching. Whitmore notices the growing audience.
It makes him angrier.”All right, here’s what’s going to happen.” “You’re going to show me proof you live here, deed, mortgage papers, utility bills, something.” “Those documents are inside.” “Then let’s go inside and get them.” “You want to enter my home?” “Do you have a warrant?” His face reens.”I don’t need a warrant if you invite me.” “I’m not inviting you.” “Then I’m detaining you until we sort this out.” “On what grounds?” “Trespassing?” “Trespassing on my own property?” “That’s what I’m trying to determine.” Simone’s mind races. She could go inside, get her federal credentials, end this in seconds.
But anger burns in her chest. Why should she have to prove anything? She’s done nothing wrong.”Officer, I want your name and badge number.” Whitmore touches his name plate slowly, deliberately.
